Red Handed
by boldlikeblack
Summary: Kurt, Dave and that damn locker room.  Rated M for a reason.
1. I Like the Way You Move

**Disclaimer:**** This whole thing is proof that I don't own this...because this would never, ever happen on Glee.**

**A/N:**** Where to begin? I've dabbled in slashy scenes before with my Inception story 'Dreamers Often Lie' but nothing this graphic, so I apologize if the quality just isn't what you're used to from me. This one shot isn't related to the 'Lie' series or to 'Inconceivable'. My inspiration came from Karofsky's remark in NBK about junk peek-age as well as from the Secret-Hottie!Karofsky prompt at the kurtofsky _ fic LJ community (where I lurk because I have no LJ). I'm not specifically filling the prompt; I was just inspired by the notion.**

**Having said all that, this is rated M for a reason. It contains voyeurism, nudity and masturbation. If any of that bothers you, hit the back button and check out 'Lie to Me' for some less graphic but still passionately smexy action.**

**Cheers!**

**BBB**

Kurt smiles to himself as he walks down the deserted halls of McKinley High. His brand new Puma sneakers barely make a sound as he makes his way to the boys' locker room. He isn't exactly pleased about having to go in; especially not with what happened there weeks ago between him and Karofsky, but it's a necessary evil. The showers are there and he certainly isn't going to walk all the way to his locker to pick up his clothes just to walk back to the locker room and shower after he works out. Finn has graciously given him the combination to his locker so that Kurt can stow his bag in it while he perseveres in the battle against his pear-like hips. With any luck, he'll have just enough time to run a few miles, shower, tone, and moisturize before anyone else arrives. He'll even be able to grab something small for breakfast in the cafeteria before first period.

The locker room, like the hall, is deserted. Kurt slips inside and makes his way to Finn's locker. The room is a tad foreboding with most of the lights off and Kurt has to hold back a curse when he bumps his shin on one of the benches. He finds Finn's locker and spins the combination carefully before opening the locker and placing his gym/personal hygiene tote inside. Withdrawing his iPod, Kurt moves to close the locker as an odd pained sound echoes through the locker room.

Kurt trades his iPod for his cell phone and quietly closes the locker. He zips his Lululemon hoodie up tighter, not sure what to expect. He knows it's not exactly smart to investigate a strange noise in a deserted school, but it sounds like someone might really be hurt. Kurt dials 9-1-1 and places his thumb near the 'send' button, in case whoever is making the noise needs medical attention, and takes a wary step in the direction the noise came from.

Another pained whine breaks the silence of the empty change room and Kurt wastes little time slinking toward the showers, where he's now certain the original had come from. As he nears the door to the showers, his heart beat speeds up. It's completely and totally irrational, but Kurt presses his back against the wall that opens into the shower area, suddenly terrified that his morning might turn into one of those terrible teen slasher films where the well-intentioned Good Samaritan gets butchered for trying to do the right thing. Taking a few calming breaths to quell his increasing terror, Kurt shifts to his left to peek around the corner.

Kurt's eyes widen comically as he takes in the sight before him. Dave "The Fury" Karofsky, life-threatening closet case hockey jock douchebag of epic proportions, is naked and glistening with moisture, leaning against the tile wall of the shower with his eyes closed tight and his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly. The angle Kurt is looking from gives him a full, explicit view of the scene as he watches Karofsky's hand slide up and down.

It's little bit like seeing a car wreck or Lindsey Lohan and Kurt can't force himself to look away, even though he knows he should because Karofsky would, without a doubt, make good on his death threat were he to catch Kurt 'taking a peek at his junk'. Kurt wants to turn around and run as far away as fast as possible, but he can't tear his eyes away.

As Kurt rakes his disbelieving eyes down Karofsky's naked body, he wonders if this is what going mad feels like. Chubby was definitely the wrong descriptor to use. Karofsky doesn't have a six pack, but he's solid through his midsection. His shoulders, which Kurt has been slammed into lockers by many times, are defined and his chest is broad. As Karofsky strokes himself, Kurt notices that the other boy has well sculpted biceps and triceps. Karofsky has forearms that Kurt would find delicious on anyone else and he has strong, beautiful hands.

Karofsky moans again, loudly, and Kurt's knees go a little weak at the sound. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room as Karofsky picks up his pace. From the way the tendons in his forearms jump, he's also tightened his grip to match. Kurt swallows thickly as he lets his eyes linger for just a moment on the object of Karofsky's attention. Insanely, Kurt wonders if it has a name too, like the fist wrapped around it.

Karofsky's thighs, dear sweet Prada his thighs, are the cherry on top of the 'surprise your bully is a secret babe under his hideous carpenter jeans and bulky jackets' sundae. They're extremely muscular and defined, presumably from playing hockey, and Kurt's almost certain he's seen a pair just like them on a Greek statue somewhere. Karofsky's muscles dance under his skin as he begins to thrust his hips to meet his hand.

Karofsky starts muttering to himself as his rhythm grows inconsistent and jerky. "Oh fuck," he pants, hips jerking so far away from the wall that Kurt fears he might slip and hurt himself.

A litany of curse words falls from Karofsky's lips as Kurt watches with rapt attention. The hockey player is gripping the half wall separating the showers so hard that his knuckles are white. "Oh fuck...want you...just like that...yes...need you so fuckin' much..." Karofsky hisses, bucking his hips wantonly.

Then Karofsky throws his head back, chanting "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," as all of his muscles tense up. He strokes himself, hard, twice more before he comes with an ear splitting roar; spilling all over the floor of the shower stall.

As Karofsky bonelessly sinks into a sitting position against the wall, eyes still mercifully closed, panting hard, Kurt finally turns his head away. Making as little noise as possible, terrified out of his mind, Kurt flees the locker room without even stopping to retrieve his tote from Finn's locker.


	2. My New Obsession

**A/N:**** So I'm a bit brain dead on the whole Kurtofsky 'ship (Max Adler is WAY too good at his job), but this little something has been rolling around in my brain for a while. I'm still working away on 'Love the Way You Lie', so *fingers crossed* I hope to have something for you soon. Let me know if you dig this or if you don't. I love getting reviews.**

**Also shoutouts to TheFirstMrsHummel, whose fics constantly rock my socks (read 'Cry for Deliverance' after you finish this...seriously), and Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare, because I'm totally in 'lesbians' (can you tell I watched Scott Pilgrim recently?) with 'Not the Man I Was'.**

**Cheers – B**

**BBB**

The hands on his hips are scorching against his bare skin. Hungry lips drag against his throat, soothing the skin after each and every nip of teeth. It feels so good that Kurt can barely think. He's quickly turning into an embarrassing, writhing mess and if he wasn't so turned on, he would probably be irritated at his own inability to control himself.

His lover turns his attention to Kurt's ear and Kurt swallows audibly. The fingers wrapped around his hips don't stray an inch when his lover licks the shell of Kurt's ear, eliciting a funny choked sort of yelp from Kurt. Kurt tips his head back as those lips travel down his neck again, sending Kurt's hips rocketing forward when they make contact with a spot at the base of Kurt's throat.

The answering chuckle that rumbles against Kurt's skin sends an electric shock down Kurt's spine. "Don't laugh at me," Kurt pants, trying to hold on to his irritation as his lover grips his hips harder and pulls Kurt forward until they're plastered together. Kurt's mouth goes dry at the contact and his train of thought derails completely.

"Oh fuck," his lover whispers in his ear, grinding their hips together. "Want you..." he continues helplessly as Kurt wraps one leg around his hip to keep them connected.

Kurt pushes his hips up, pulling his lover forward at the same time. Kurt digs his fingers into his lover's shoulders and catches the other boy's lower lip with his teeth. In response, Kurt's lover tangles his fingers in Kurt's hair and pulls Kurt into a savage, demanding kiss that leaves Kurt aching with desire.

"Please," Kurt begs, rocking his hips.

Kurt's lover moans and they fall into an escalating rhythm, pushing them both to dizzying heights. "Just like that..." his lover pants, urging Kurt on.

Kurt brings his hips forward, hard, against the other boy. His lover is almost shaking and Kurt can feel that he's close. They both are and, as much as Kurt wants to get there, he has to see his boy unravel first. He arcs harder and faster into the other boy. "Yes..." his lover hisses, "need you so fuckin' much..."

"Ahem," Kurt hears and his eyes snap open wide. Ms. Castle stares down at him and he blushes. "What exactly do you find more stimulating than neutron stars, Mr. Hummel?" she asks, slurring slightly but managing to put a catty sort of emphasis on 'stimulating'.

Kurt plasters a smile on his face and shifts slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. "Just dreaming about the gorgeous pair of Louboutins Xtina was wearing in the Burlesque promo photos on Oh No They Didn't this morning. It won't happen again, sorry," he says semi-apologetically.

"The cream, crystal encrusted, lacy platforms?" Ms. Castle asks.

Kurt smiles more genuinely and nods. "The very same," he replies.

"That's understandable, but pay attention. Neutron stars will be on your next exam," Ms. Castle says, returning to the front of the class.

Once her attention is completely focused on the lesson, Kurt lets his head drop onto the desk. He wonders what it would take to scramble his brain enough to get Karofsky out of it.


	3. Traitor Here Beneath My Breast

**A/N:**** I know I should be working on 'Love the Way You Lie' but I really needed to wipe the creepshow that was the Kurt/Dave locker confrontation out of my mind before the gang hits Sectionals tomorrow night. Here's my answer to that in the Red-verse. (I apologize if Kurt's all over the mo'foing place and sliiiiightly out of character even as I've written him in this...please keep in mind that the poor boy can't sleep or pay attention because of all the secret hotness that is Dave Karofsky...forgive me?).**

**Also, this did not go in the sexy direction I'd intended. This biznatch is determined to become a real story...with, like, a plot, and everything. Apparently I can't just write sexy-times. Boo-urns me, boo-urns.**

**Shout outs to all my reviewers, especially you die-hards that just keep coming back. I love hearing from you!**

**Also, someone frame-by-framed The Rocky Horror Glee Show and NBK...with commentary. h t t p : / community . livejournal . com / Karofsky _ hummel / 65587 . html (Take out the spaces for both 'awws' and many lulz).**

**Cheers - B**

**BBB**

"My power rangers got married and divorced in so many combinations, they were like Fleetwood Mac," Kurt jokes.

Finn is obviously confused at the reference, which is a travesty, but he smiles and says "I guess if I could pull it off, it would make me look like a total stud."

"Totally," Kurt says, smiling.

Finn walks off, dopey smile plastered on his face, and Kurt sighs heavily. He lets himself relax for a minute, resting his head against his locker door. He lets his eyes drift closed because it feels amazing to take a time out of the constant glee-naked Karofsky-school-Karofsky-homework-naked Karofsky-Blaine-Karofsky-wedding whirlwind in his brain. Sighing again, Kurt picks up the cake-topper and closes his locker door.

His heart jumps into his throat when he locks eyes with Karofsky. The look on the jock's face makes Kurt feel like he's just been pushed into a tub full of ice water and it sets his heart scrambling. He knows, Kurt panics, he knows, he knows, he knows, shit, shit, shit. For every step Karofsky takes forward, Kurt takes one back.

"I don't want you near me," Kurt says shakily, because even through the sheer terror he's feeling at the prospect of Karofsky knowing that Kurt saw him...watched him...Karofsky's nearness is clouding Kurt's head with the same images that have been torturing him for almost a month.

Karofsky raises his hand, but instead of punching Kurt like Kurt had expected, Karofsky jabs him in the chest with pointed fingers. Kurt can feel the heat of Karofsky's hand through his shirt and he licks his lips, even as he quakes in fear. There's a momentary flicker of something in Karofsky's eyes that has Kurt's legs tingling, but the jock's gaze ices over again as he drags his fingers down Kurt's chest.

Karofsky's fingers stall just above Kurt's belt buckle and Kurt's fear melts into something much more dangerous. They stare silently at each other and Kurt is struck by the eerie similarities between his current situation and a dream he'd had a few days before that had ended with Karofsky deepthroating him in their locker room. Kurt closes his eyes and digs the fingernail of his index finger into the side of his thumb.

The small jolt of pain he feels is enough to snap him the hell out of whatever is happening. Regardless of whatever smutty fantasies that Kurt might have been having, it is not okay for Karofsky to be touching him like this in public. Kurt's nostrils flare and he grabs Karofsky's wrist, digging his thumb into the veins on the underside. Karofsky's wince of pain is a surprise as Kurt rips the other boy's hand off him.

Kurt lets go just long enough to hook two fingers in the collar of Karofsky's t-shirt, hauling the jock down so they're eye to eye. "No," Kurt hisses, ignoring the spark that shoots up his fingers as they brush against the skin of Karofsky's neck.

"What?" Karofsky says, genuinely confused.

"No, just no. I absolutely do not have time for this," Kurt states, tightening his grip on Karofsky's t-shirt.

Before Karofsky can get a word in, or get back to his usual Hulk-esque sensibilities, Kurt continues. "I haven't had eight solid hours of sleep in over a month. I'm working myself to the fucking bone so that we can at least have a chance against Dalton, even though their choir is full of exceptional male voices and New Directions only has me; and I am trying my very best to make sure that my father's wedding is _perfect_. I nearly beheaded the poor barista at Starbucks this morning when she gave me one shot of espresso in my venti soy caramel macchiato instead of the two I asked for and I snapped at Mercedes for venturing into the wonderful world of metallic heels. I am exhausted and I do _not_ have the energy to deal with your pseudo-stalker closet-case bullshit right now, _David_."

Kurt stares into Karofsky's eyes, wondering if anything he's said has gotten through the jock's skull when he realizes how close they are. The last time he got in Karofsky's face like this...well, now isn't the time to think of it. Except, he does and his gaze flicks down at Karofsky's lips for a split-second. Kurt licks his lips and releases Karofsky's collar, shoving the other boy back slightly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the ridiculous urge to grab Karofsky by the letter jacket and kiss the hell out of him. Kurt takes a few calming breaths through his nose, screaming at himself on the inside, wondering how the hell this became his life, and waves a dismissive hand in Karofsky's direction. "You can resume your quest to drive me madder than Blanche Dubois after Sectionals is over," he concedes, "just lay off for now. Please."

When he finally looks up, Karofsky is just standing there with his mouth hanging open just a little. Even though all he wants...or all he just said he wanted...is for Karofsky to leave him alone, the catty little comment slips right past Kurt's internal filter. "That's a good look for you," he says, before turning on his heel and walking away.


	4. More Wit, A Better Kiss, A Hotter Touch

**A/N:**** HUGE thanks goes to TheFirstMrsHummel for all her help with this chapter. She pointed me in the right direction, so if you like the way this went give her mad props by reading and reviewing her stories (which, if you're a Kurtofsky-holic like I am, you've probably read already, but they're definitely deserving of a repeat read). Also, thank you to Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare for encouraging me to use 'Feelin Good' in this chapter, even though she already busted it out in 'The Man With A Plan'. Shoutouts to ColouredRose, who constantly sets the bar high for Kurtofsky smut, for the words of wisdom and to Spooky Bibi for the ever-uplifting PMs.**

**Forgive me for the shameless plugs. These authors never cease to amaze me. Also, I'm shamelessly plugging the Kurtofsky C2 'You Give Love a Bad Name'...where you can find some wicked Kurtofsky stories. Happy reading.**

**Remember, reviews are inspiring. If you choose to let me know what you think of this chapter, please also let me know if you'd be interested in some holiday-themed Kurtofsky smut!**

**Cheers – B**

**BBB**

Kurt sighs contentedly and snuggles deeper into Dave's chest. Dave runs his fingers through Kurt's hair absently and it feels so good that Kurt is practically purring. Dave's fingernails brush across the back of Kurt's neck on one pass and Kurt squeezes the taller boy's waist, letting out a happy, encouraging noise.

"This is nice," Dave rumbles tiredly.

"Shhh," Kurt replies, "you'll ruin it."

"Time to get up, Kurt," Dave says.

"No," Kurt whines, nuzzling in so deeply that he might as well be trying to climb inside the heart thumping away under his ear.

"Seriously, dude, wake up," Dave demands in a voice that sounds a lot like Finn.

"M'trying to sleep, go 'way," Kurt pouts, digging his fingers into Dave's sides and holding on tight.

"Get up," Finn says, tugging on Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt smacks Finn's hand away and burrows into the leather jacket he's balled up against the chair. "Leave me alone, or I'll shave off one of your eyebrows while you're sleeping," Kurt whines, childishly dragging out the 'ing'.

Then Kurt's chair tips back and he has to scramble not to end up on his head. When he rights himself, he narrows his eyes in Finn's direction. "Just so you know, I'm seriously considering replacing your shampoo with Nair," he says icily.

"Totally worth it," Finn says.

"I cannot believe I'm going to be related to you," Kurt huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His post-rude awakening bitchiness is trampled to death when Kurt yawns widely, lifting a hand to cover his mouth.

"I know you're bagged from all this wedding stuff, but I didn't think you'd want to miss this," Finn says, his expression verging on 'hang-dog'.

"Miss what?" Kurt asks.

Mr. Shue clears his throat loudly and Kurt turns his attention to the teacher, blushing deeply as he notices that half of the glee club is staring at him. "Thanks for joining us, Kurt," Mr. Shue says, smiling brightly.

"Sorry Mr. Shue," Kurt says sheepishly.

"As I was saying before I was interrupted," Mr. Shue starts.

"Interrupted?" Kurt asks, whispering to Finn.

"You were doing that weird cartoony snort thing," Finn whispers back.

"Dave is going to audition for us today," Mr. Shue continues, pointedly ignoring Kurt and Finn.

Kurt bristles at the thought of having to fight with yet _another_ singer for solos, but he freezes when his haughty glare finds its intended target. Karofsky is standing next to Mr. Shue, looking extremely uncomfortable in an uncharacteristic rumpled white collared shirt, haphazard black tie and dark jeans. Karofsky meets the glare without flinching and Kurt looks away, furious. Of course Karofsky's listening skills would be on par with his intelligence.

"Excuse me, Mr. Shue, but you cannot let him join New Directions," Rachel states, standing and placing her hands on her hips. "He invented the slushee facial!"

"Actually, Rach, that one's on me," Puck confesses, shrugging.

"While I appreciate your honesty, now is hardly the time Noah," Rachel replies.

Mr. Shue frowns and shakes his head. "Anyone who wants to try out is allowed, Rachel. You know that," Mr. Shue says.

"But Mr. Shue..." Rachel implores.

"If it's gonna be that big of a fu...friggin' deal, forget it. I'm only here 'cause my mom's withholding Black Ops 'till I make an effort to be more well-rounded, or some Dr. Phil sh...crap," Karofsky scoffs.

"You probably should go;" Puck smirks, "you don't want to embarrass yourself."

Karofsky's tongue darts out between his lips and the instantaneous stab of arousal Kurt feels is exceedingly frustrating. The muscles in Karofsky's jaw clench and his hands ball into fists. "I don't have anything to be embarrassed about," he states lowly, obviously restraining himself from wiping the smirk off of Puck's face.

The conviction in Karofsky's tone makes Kurt shiver involuntarily and generates a sudden, pornographic mental flash of Karofsky with his head thrown back against the shower wall. Karofsky is, unfortunately, right about lacking cause for embarrassment. Kurt cuts off his impending mental detour and rolls his eyes. "I'd be embarrassed to be seen in carpenter jeans," Kurt drawls, feigning interest in his fingernails, hoping to draw Karofsky's focus away from Puck long enough to avert a fight. They'll be screwed for Sectionals if Puck ends up back in Juvie.

"Don't knock it 'til you get in a pair, Fancy," Karofsky smirks, adjusting his tie.

Kurt's brain just stops. It doesn't slowly come to a halt as he processes the double entendre that has slipped from Dave Karofsky's Neanderthal mouth. Kurt doesn't really even hear the comment. Every single thought is erased by the achingly familiar way the muscles in Karofsky's forearms jump just below his rolled up sleeves as he tugs on the tie looped around his neck.

Kurt bites his lip as his thoughts come roaring back, filled with naked skin, desperate moans and burning hazel eyes. His entire body thrums with want as Karofsky turns his attention to the band. It's not fair that Karofsky can make him feel like this at all. Kurt's life would be so much easier if he didn't know what was under Karfosky's clothes. If he hadn't known, he wouldn't have rattled Karofsky's cage with the comment about his mouth and the jock wouldn't be here now, ignoring Kurt's request to be left alone and unknowingly torturing him.

"Whenever you're ready," Mr. Shue says, sitting in an empty chair in the first row.

Kurt's stomach sinks as the band begins to play 'Feelin' Good'. Karofsky's eyes stay glued to the floor for the entirety of the first verse, but Kurt nearly chokes on his own spit because _Karofsky is actually good._ He's really, really good; exceptional even. Karofsky's voice is smooth and velvety, somewhere between Sinatra and Martin. Kurt is flabbergasted and, judging from the confusion and awe on their faces, the other members of New Directions are too.

The band picks up and Karofsky starts to get into the song, swaying from side to side with the barest hint of a smile. Some of the other jocks give Karofsky an encouraging round of applause and a full-blown smile breaks across his face. It's brilliant but fleeting and Kurt wonders why and where Karofsky's been hiding it. Karofsky could get absolutely anything he wanted from anyone with a smile like that.

Kurt practically melts into his chair when Karofsky tips his head to the side and looks up at Kurt from under his eyelashes. Karofsky's hazel eyes are smouldering and Kurt feels the look like a touch between his legs. Kurt's heart is racing when Karofsky looks away, focusing his gaze on Santana instead. Something ugly bubbles up in Kurt's chest as the promiscuous Cheerio licks her lower lip and gives Karofsky a smile that can't be interpreted as anything other than interested.

The sheer rage Kurt feels when Karofsky winks at Santana, while tugging on the knot of his tie like a Rat Packer, is unexpected. Heat builds under his skin as Kurt wonders if Karofsky and Santana have ever had sex. The possibility that Santana is Karofsky's locker room fantasy makes Kurt's insides twist. There's bile at the back of his throat when he thinks of them together, Santana's long, tanned legs wrapped around Karofsky's gorgeous thighs as Karofsky hoarsely moans how much he wants and needs her.

Kurt's so distracted by the images dancing in his mind that he almost misses Karofsky's big finish. The jock's voice surges up during the last verse as he reaches out, closes his hands and pulls back as if he's trying to pull the audience in and really make them believe what he's singing. Kurt's mouth falls open as Karofsky practically caresses the words while crooning the last few lines. Karofsky finishes the song and bites his lip, looking expectantly at the club.

There is a moment of total silence before the gleeks burst into thunderous applause. The jocks are hollering and Santana puts two fingers in her mouth, whistling loudly. It's pandemonium. Karofsky's brilliant smile makes an appearance as Mr. Shue claps a hand on his shoulder, grinning madly. "Welcome to New Directions, Dave," Mr. Shue says, amazed. "Where in the world did you learn to sing like that?"

Karofsky shrugs and smirks triumphantly in Puck's direction before squeezing between Kurt and Finn to get to the empty seat behind them. As he brushes past Kurt, who is still gaping like a fish, Karofsky leans down slightly. "Suits you better," he quips before taking his seat so that practice can begin.


End file.
